


Before-and-After Shots

by darmatugan



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen, Pack Bonding, Rebuilding the Hale House, The Hale House
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-15
Updated: 2013-04-15
Packaged: 2017-12-08 13:58:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/762121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darmatugan/pseuds/darmatugan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Hale House is shit.  Derek is aware of this.  A bit more aware than he’d like to be.  It’s shit, but it’s his.  And since it's his house, he's going to make it a home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Before-and-After Shots

The Hale House is shit. Derek is aware of this. A bit more aware than he’d like to be. It hurts, seeing the ash settle with every step he takes, seeing the dust collect on the ruined mantle day after day. But he can’t leave. The house is his home, his childhood, the only reminder of his family and the life he had before Kate Argent took a tank of gasoline and a lighter to it. It’s not a place to live, at least not a place where he can house three new werewolves. They can’t train there. It’s too fragile. He can barely live there, wind and rain driving him out occasionally. There’s a trashed mattress on the second level, in what used to be his old room. A duffle bag filled with wifebeaters and T-shirts resides in the corner, his few leather jackets and jeans shoved into the remains of a dresser next to the cracked glass of a window. It’s shit, but it’s his and it’s home. 

He never blatantly decided to repair the house, it just started one day. He’s not sure if he decided to start repairs when his foot went through the front step on the porch or when he pulled the kitchen door off its hinges without using any additional strength. Either way, Derek grows sick of the lingering scent of gasoline and the constant creaks of decaying wood. He starts slow. First ripping up damaged floorboards in the kitchen, an area he rarely frequents. It’s tedious, monotonous, and results in too many goddamn slivers. But when the room has been stripped to its barebones, vacant of anything except a few structural supports and the occasional nail, he feels a strange sense of accomplishment. And so he destroys another room. And another. And just keeps going until the entire first floor is nothing but the scarred remnants of a house. 

It’s taken two weeks to strip the house, and his pack has noticed. Well, not Scott because Scott’s not exactly pack. He’s more so an ally who just happens to spend a great deal of his free time with Derek and his pups. The pups, however, they’ve noticed. The Alpha now has an underlying odor of decay, the stench of gasoline, and an undeniable smell of sweat coating his body every time they train. Even during casual meetings, when Erica is sprawled on the couch and Issac and Boyd are fighting over the last piece of pizza, drowning out whatever movie they’re watching, the scents in the air are hard to ignore. It’s a strange smell coming from their Alpha, as alongside the decay and sweat comes this air of determination. A fuck all attitude that differs from his normal hatred of the world. An almost hopeful air that suggests something is getting better. 

Stiles notices. Of course Stiles Fucking Stilinski would notice. He tags along with Scott to one of the pack meetings, even though Derek has growled at him more than once that _humans are not pack_. The teenager brushed it off with a laugh, saying that he’s more pack than Derek can handle, and then babbles for several minutes about how Allison and Scott and he are their own pack and something about human/werewolf dynamics. Derek’s learned how to tune out the boy with relative ease, plastering a fake glare on his face as he merely leans back into one of the chairs that resides in the abandoned warehouse, taking in the scents of this other pack, as well as his pups. It’s a few minutes later before Stiles draws him out of the stupor by repeating his name a few times. 

“Derek. Derek. Derek.”

“WHAT.” The statement comes out with a growl, a tiny bit harsher than intended. He’d been studying the layout of the living room in his head, debating where furniture could go and what type of flooring to use. The interruption was unwelcomed, reminding Derek that every moment here was a moment he wasn’t using to repair the house. Fortunately, Stiles doesn’t flinch back, and no one seems to notice. The boy leans over and plucks a rather large splinter of wood out of Derek’s shirt. With another silent motion, he dusts his hand over the werewolf’s hair, catching a few more shavings in his palm. 

“You’re dirtier than usual. I mean, you’re normally fairly hygienic but being a werewolf, you always kind of have this underlying wild dirtiness to you but now you’re actually covered in normal person dirt. I mean, what’s up with the wood shavings?” The fragments of his old house reside in the palm of Stiles Stilinski, the little human boy who has managed to not only worm his way into Scott’s pack, but is smart enough that Derek desperately wants him to be a part of his own. Not that he’d ever admit it. There’s no part of him that is willing to _beg_ for Stiles to join his pack. Alphas don’t beg. 

Rather than give him a false answer or just brush the boy off with a glare, Derek answers truthfully. It’s still a short answer, interlaced with a growl, but it’s the truth. 

“Renovations. On the House.” Apparently the statement satisfies whatever curiosity Stiles had, and so he dumps the splinters onto the floor and strikes up a conversation with the much more amicable Boyd. Derek gives him a once over, confused by the lack of questioning that normally accompanies Stiles everywhere. Shaking his head slowly, a smile almost peeking onto his face, Derek returns to the House plans, laying out the room foundations in his head.

It’s a few days later when Stiles again brushes a layer of wood shavings off the werewolf, “I see you’ve stopped destroying and are now just coating yourself in a lovely layer of wood dust. Do you want some help?” The question is a surprise, causing Derek’s eyes to snap down to Stiles’ face, studying him for any hint of mockery or deceit. Surprisingly enough, or rather, not surprising at all for Stiles, the boy seems honest. He really does want to help. Biting back a sarcastic answer, Derek brushes past him, moving towards the door to leave. 

“Hey. Sourwolf. I asked you a question. Do you want help?” Stiles’ voice echoes through the abandoned warehouse, calling the attention of his pups and Scott. 

Nearly glaring at the kid, Derek gives him one curt nod. “My house. Tomorrow. Bring gloves and wear jeans.” Actually glaring out at the rest of them, he jerks his head towards Stiles. “You all are coming too. Same instructions.” 

That night, laying on the shitty mattress with a light breeze ghosting through the room, Derek Hale wonders just why he’s allowing five teenagers to come and attempt to fix his house. Then he remembers. Stiles Fucking Stilinski offered to help and for some reason, that means all the pups have to come.

The boy rolls up with Scott the next day in that death trap he calls a Jeep, a couple of tool kits bouncing around on the back seats. Erica and Isaac have been doinking around in the house’s remains for several minutes, Isaac for some reason snapping pictures with this shitty camera he bought. The teenager insists they’ll need before-and-after shots, otherwise Derek’s not going to remember just how destroyed his house really was. The Alpha almost growls back that he doesn’t want to remember, but Stiles has already bounded over and is gesturing wildly at random pieces of the house, babbling on about “stained wood, chestnut, no oak, maybe mahogany? No, that’s expensive but you’re probably rich” and the incessant chatter drowns out any desire to growl down Isaac. 

Resisting the urge to slap a hand over Stiles’ never resting mouth, Derek instead storms inside the house and starts hammering away at the new kitchen flooring. He figures it was the first room he destroyed, it might as well be the first room he fixes. The pups are working outside for the most part, repainting the relatively undamaged wood. Stiles ventures inside every now and again, offering a hand only to be scared off with a growl. Isaac too comes into the kitchen a bit more than Derek would prefer, snapping pictures and leaving only when Derek’s eyes flash their crimson Alpha red. 

After several hours of backbreaking, sweat inducing labor, the pack stops for lunch. Derek is only pulled out of the kitchen when Stiles waves a hunk of hamburger under his nose and whispers something about the spices he used. Derek really doesn’t notice as his stomach is rumbling enough to drown out the rest of his senses. Isaac snaps away during lunch, many of the pictures showing Boyd, Erica, and Scott wolfing out in the corners while Stiles just sits and eats. There’s a picture or two of Derek, face stuffed with hamburger or chips, almost glaring at his pack. There’s always a hint of a smile on his face, which quickly vanishes when he catches sight of the budding photographer. 

Dumping his paper plate on the ground, growling at the others to get back to work, Derek studies the outside of the house for a minute. Scott hops back over to the power saw, hacking off tiles of wood small enough for the hallway. Erica just sends him a look which pretty much says she’s not working the rest of the day. Boyd rolls his eyes at her, yanks her to her feet, and drags the protesting female back to their paint job. Derek is about to venture back into the kitchen when Stiles jumps in front of him, babbling on about something or other. 

He forgets Isaac has the camera, forgets about his big, bad, Alpha image for a minute, and just leans against Stiles, hands resting on either shoulder as the boy rattles on. Scott has the fucking power saw whirring away into a knot of wood, making it difficult for even a werewolf to hear. He pressed his chest against Stiles’ back, staring at the ground and concentrating on his words. The boy is gesturing towards a window or something, muttering about curtains or a veranda or something to do with the windows. He ignores the boy for the briefest of moments and just thinks about how nice it is to have Stiles. To have someone who can wrangle up a pack of teenage werewolves and make them repair a dismal, destroyed home that has no value besides the sentimental memories of their Alpha. 

To have someone who’s willing to take a whole Saturday to drive out into the middle of nowhere, grill them burgers, and work until his entire body reeks of sweat. Then the boy takes a step forward, leaving Derek with his hands hovering in the air for the briefest of moments. Stiles gestures at random levels of the house, a wide smile across his face as he explains his plans for the Hale Home. 

Derek, for once, cracks a small smile back before following the boy inside so he can see these plans first hand.

It takes weeks, months even, but the entire house is remodeled. Despite protests, the pups and Stiles and Scott drag in shitty furniture, ranging from an abandoned green couch to a second hand bookshelf and several other “unique” pieces of furniture that Stiles insisted gave the place life. Derek wasn’t sure if he liked the “life” that Stiles was talking about, especially not the scents that accompanied the used fixtures that now inhabited his house. All together, with fresh coats of paints, new furniture, new floorboards, lighting, plumbing, and all that jazz, the pack has managed to make the Hale House a home. He’s staring at the building one night, eyes studying the few places that needed the Hale touch, despite the teenagers’ best attempts at carpentry and painting. He catches the scent of Isaac, turning around to see the boy shuffling up the driveway. 

“I thought you’d want to see these.” Isaac’s thrusting a flash drive towards him, small smile on his face. “You know, before and after?” A little confused, Derek then remembers their brief conversation. Jutting his hand out, he allows Isaac to drop the small plastic object onto his palm. 

As the boy leaves, Derek barks out one word, although it’s soft and quiet, heard only by the werewolf’s sharp senses. “Thanks.”

Venturing back into his house, Derek unearths his laptop from underneath a pile of clothes. Despite Stiles’ beliefs about his wildness and inability to use technology, Derek does understand computers. He might not use them that often, preferring to pester Stiles for information instead, but he understands their usefulness. Plugging the flash drive in, Derek browses through the photos quickly.

There’s many of Erica and Boyd, a few of Isaac’s blurry face, several of Scott and Stiles nearly killing themselves with power tools, and the obligatory pictures of Stiles mugging for the camera. There’s lunch, the Jeep, the house before the painting began, the house at the halfway mark of painting, the house once the painting is finished, and Stiles mugging for the camera. Pictures of nails, hammers, power saws, screw drivers, paint brushes, and Stiles mugging for the camera. Nearly every single picture of Stiles has his mugging for the camera, including the ones of him eating lunch or painting the house. Except one. The only one of Stiles is also the only one of Derek where he doesn’t look angry or tense or wolfish.

The pair are standing close together, Derek’s hands on Stiles’ shoulders. The sun nearly envelops them, rays streaming down from the right hand corner. There’s a hint of a smile on Derek’s face as he listens to whatever is coming out of Stiles’ mouth, the teenager clearly happy and enthused by something. The feeling of intimacy is overwhelming, as is this feeling of comfort that Derek gets by just looking at it. The Alpha, in one brief instance, looks happy. He looks like he belongs, like the weight of the world is not resting on his shoulders, like for one instant, Derek Hale is a normal human being. 

The photo is the only picture hanging in his house. It resides in a simple black frame, hanging above the repaired mantle place that Stiles and Derek remade together. It hangs there to remind Derek of the before. Before the fire, before the house became a skeleton. His expression is happy, a feeling that exists purely in the before. But maybe, with Stiles, his pack, and a home, happy can reside in the after. 

And so the picture sits above the mantle, never collecting dust.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, uh, there it is. My first fic ever posted on this website so ... yeah.
> 
> The picture that spurred this whole story is this one (http://media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m70xptTVGu1qbhapg.jpg) and so ... yeah. That is all I have to say on that.
> 
> Oh, also, many thanks to the lovely Jojo (the awesome coldbones on this website) for reading and reviewing this before I put it up.


End file.
